


Mr. President

by fireaway



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Heavy Angst, Inspired by Music, Near Death Experiences, Political Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-08-14 02:23:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20184682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireaway/pseuds/fireaway
Summary: The summer after senior year is supposed to be worthwhile.The air is warmer, the days are longer, and it's the last time Peter Parker will be seeing his best friends before they go their separate ways.After all, MIT is calling his name.But the elections are approaching. Spider-Man makes the mistake of endorsing the president, and one-by-one, the people he loves fall victim to the consequences of his political association.Peter believes he can protect them.Until MJ suddenly goes missing.The best way to break Spider-Man is to hurt the ones he would die for.





	1. where there's smoke, there's fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, two songs that got me even _thinking_ about writing a fic like this:
> 
> "Game of Survival" by Ruelle and **especially** "Good Guy" by ZAYN.
> 
> The title is from good guy, actually! It's so good. Please, listen. 
> 
> Also, this is definitely a Peter Parker/Spider-Man centric story, with a focus on the people he loves, including Michelle Jones. However, the story isn't entirely centered around his relationship with her. So before you read, I wouldn't consider this a spideychelle/petermj fic. It's not romantic, it's not fluffy, it's very different than anything I've tried writing before. 
> 
> This is an alternate universe, and it's my attempt at writing something action packed and thrilling and _heavy_. I'm excited for this, but also very intimidated and scared, so please, if you decide to read this, let me know what you think! (But also be kind, I'm fragile, and I'm really putting myself out there by writing this).
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Sitting next to his best friend on the rooftop of his apartment building, Ned takes in the view before them. Pink and orange hues paint the west evening sky as a burning red ball begins to sink into the horizon. From the east, pulsing gray clouds roll in, racing to catch up to the setting sun. He sees lightning as it cuts through the clouds, and in the distance, hears a low rumble of thunder. An incoming storm threatens to swallow the remaining light of day. 

The sun is running out of time. 

A shiver creeps down his spine; maybe because he fears for the sun. Maybe because he knows the feeling.

Suddenly, he notices that they’re too far from the door and too high off the ground. The air feels thick with humidity and smells sticky like a dreadful summer storm. More lightning slices the sky, so Ned’s head jerks to look at the boy beside him. Although the thunder is louder now, his friend’s steady eyes resemble a dark, calm sea. Yet they do nothing to smother the flaming anxiety building up in his stomach. 

They need to get off of the roof and inside the building before it’s too late; before they become like the sun, caught up in a storm when they should have been hiding. 

“Peter,” he breaks the silence between them, “we should go before that gets here.” 

He gestures to another flash of lightning, but Peter’s eyes don’t follow. Instead, they’re set on the sunset, never wavering from the star disappearing behind the end of the earth. 

“Now hold on,” Peter starts, a glint in his eyes from the sun’s dying light. “I haven’t finished admiring this sunset.”

Ned is almost fascinated with how optimistic he is: how he always focuses on the wonderful and never on the awful. Peter is who got him through some of his most anxiety-ridden times. He was with him when Ned’s grandmother had passed away. He coached him through his worst breakdowns, especially in the middle of the night, when the nightmares got so bad Ned thought his throat would close up.

But most of all, Peter knew what it was like for him: what it was like to be torn down and built back up into someone entirely different than who he was. He understood when Ned asked, “Do you ever see yourself in the mirror and realize that you’re so far gone? Like you just completely lost yourself, and you don’t know where to look?” 

Peter got it, but even then, he was never one to be a downer. So all he had answered was, “Of course. But maybe it’s better that way, y’know?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“If we can’t find ourselves, then there’s definitely no way anybody else can,” Peter had answered as brightly as he could manage, “No one can truly hurt us. Not really.”

His optimism is almost admirable. 

Almost.

A few minutes pass by, and the sun is barely visible from the horizon. The light is resting for the night, but the storm is just waking up. Although the sunset is over, Peter still sits there, unmoving, with his eyes drinking up the remnant colors that are yet to be clouded by gray. It’s as if he wants to hold onto the light for as long as he can before the darkness hides it away.

Ned thinks it’s sad, and so the sky starts to cry.

There is imminent danger looming over them. Sooner or later they’ll be soaked, but his friend doesn’t seem worried. It’s times like this when he hates Peter’s optimism the most. 

Then, the lightning strikes.

It’s a flash of white, so bright, so quick, and so much closer than before. Peter flinches. 

Ned catches his eyes cloud over, but in the next second, they vanish. He thinks he might’ve imagined it. 

Could it be? Is it possible Peter could be anything but brave?

Lightning hits again. 

Peter stands up. “We should go inside.”

After they scramble into the building, they find themselves wrapped in Star Wars blankets, lying on the mattress at the center of his bedroom floor. The lights flicker on and off, the power fighting to stay on and reminding Ned of his struggle to control his racing thoughts. Similar to how a sunset is one of the most beautiful sights he has ever seen, but like the storm clouding the sky, nothing good lasts forever.

The lights go out for the rest of the night. 

There’s tension in this room, so thick that even the lightning can’t cut it. No, Ned has to do this himself. He clears his throat, tries to even his breathing and speaks the words he should’ve spoken earlier, “I’m sorry.”

At the sound of his voice, Peter’s eyes find him, but Ned refuses to meet them. 

Peter sighs. “What are you sorry for?”

He sounds tired, Ned notes. Peter’s voice sounds worn and exhausted, and damn it, he should’ve been there. What kind of person isn’t there for his best friend?

“You know what I’m talking about,” he answers, which is stupid really. Peter is good at reading people, but he can’t read minds. He’s already screwing this up. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“No, actually, I really don’t.” And Ned can already hear the teasing in Peter’s voice. He despises it. Even after all he’s done, Peter can’t even pretend to hate him, “Come on now. You’ve done many things, Ned. You could be apologizing for just about anything!”

“Stop that,” Ned bites back, and he wants to slap himself. Peter deserves better. Peter always deserves better. “Stop acting like everything’s fine. We both know that’s a lie.”

He’s answered with a deafening silence, and it scares him. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

Peter’s breathing turns ragged. He turns to see Peter’s lip quiver, and his fear builds up. Two months ago, Peter swore that he would never cry again, and Peter _never_ breaks his promises.

Ned cuts his eyes away. There has to be a first time for everything. 

“It’s that bad, huh?” He tries again.

Still, silence. Somehow, it’s louder than before, and Ned has all the answers he needs. The lack of conversation from the person who talks the most speaks volumes. But it’s not what he wants. Answers mean nothing if he doesn’t know the truth. 

Before Ned had discovered his best friend is Spider-Man, he always thought Peter was like a superhero: unstoppable, invincible, resilient. Yet everyone knows a superhero always has a weakness that can bring him to his knees in defeat. So Ned asks his last question, the final ice-breaker. 

Peter holds his breath.

“How is MJ?” Ned’s whisper is barely audible. A howl of wind almost drowns him out, but Peter hears him. Peter always hears him. 

A beat of silence. 

Then, noise. 

So much noise, Ned thinks the whole world might hear Peter Parker break.

Looking to him, he can’t help it. There’s nothing more jarring than seeing a superhero cry. Spider-Man hurts too, and Ned breaks with him.

It’s haunting, actually. The storm finally catches up to the sun. The light is snuffed out, swallowed whole in the thick dark clouds, and Peter’s face is wet with tears. That sight alone feels like a blow to Ned’s stomach. He hears the patter of rain at the window, and he wonders. Do the glass panes feel pain when the rain beats against them? Is it nearly as painful as seeing your best friend cry? 

Every choke of sobs is every deafening clap of thunder that shakes the building to its core, and if Ned wasn’t lying down, he’s sure he would’ve fallen over. There’s an imbalance to the universe when Peter breaks. It messes with gravity. The Moon runs off-track, North goes South, everything is flipped upside down. Peter clutches his stomach like it hurts, and maybe it does. Maybe it hurts like every flash of lightning flooding the room, blinding their eyes for a split second.

Maybe it burns.

The sun will always lose against the storm. There will always be clouds to put out its light and rain to wash away its warmth. Destruction is in its wake. 

Ned remembers MJ saying that Peter is like the sun, and yeah, he understood what she meant. He sees light in Peter’s eyes and hears warmth in his voice. But he just can’t bear to accept the fact that Peter might lose to the storm too. 

“I’m sorry,” Ned chokes out, “I wasn’t there for you. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone, and I just left. It’s my fault.”

Moments pass of nothing but the sounds of the wind, thunder, and Peter’s cries. Ned prays a rainbow awaits when the rain dies. 

“It’s not,” Peter manages to say. He hiccups in between his sobs., “It’s not your fault.”

Night has fallen already. The sun needs to rest. It shouldn’t keep shining on those who don’t deserve it. 

“I abandoned you.” And Peter opens his mouth to counter, but Ned cuts him off, “And don’t act like it was nothing, because I’m your best friend. Your guy in the chair. I’m supposed to have your back.” He lets out a sob. “And then when you needed me the most, I just left. You should hate me.”

“I didn’t give you a choice. I wanted you as far away from me as possible. You were in danger, too!” Peter’s voice cracks, yet he’s still defending Ned, always defending Ned. 

But Ned just laughs at the irony. “Danger never stopped us before, now did it?”

Peter is quieter now. Tears stain his face, but this is more than just MJ’s safety. This is the government and corruption, greed and power, a price hanging over Peter’s head. Leaders wanting control over his life, and enemies wanting to take it. It’s everything in between, everything in the nooks and crannies, and everything in the darkness the public can’t see. This is something that will follow Spider-Man forever.

“They found her,” Peter whispers, “I’ve been keeping my distance, but I’m just so selfish that I always went to see her. They’re probably tracking me and who I see so they got her... They probably know I’m with you right now,” and with a start, Peter jerks up, “Which is why you need to leave, and you cannot contact me again.” 

“Are you out of your mind? Look at you!” Ned practically yells, observing the distress Peter is in. His shoulders are slouched as if he’s been physically carrying a weight on his back and dragging it across the world. “You’re a mess. When was the last time you slept or ate?” 

Peter avoids his eyes and stays silent. 

Ned takes this as a sign to continue, “How’s May? Happy’s watching her, right? And you told him to keep an eye on MJ, but look what happened. He’s been keeping an eye on you too, except _you ran away_. Alone, without backup. Do they even know that you’re alive?” 

Peter holds back a sob, and Ned shakes his head. His best friend is breaking, but this time Ned will promise to be there to pick up the pieces. “I’m not leaving you again.”

At this, Peter twists to face him, eyes glaring, rage fuming. “How can you say that? I want you safe, Ned,” he pleads, face glistening with new fallen tears. “I _need_ you safe. _Please_. If something ever happened to you…” he trails off, not wanting to finish the thought. “You deserve to live your life without looking over your shoulder.”

For a moment, Ned lets the words wash over him before he says what Peter already knows but doesn’t want to hear, “Peter, you deserve that too.” 

Ned sighs and runs his hand down his face. “Here’s the thing. I’m still me, and you’re still you. We were a team. _Partners_. We used to be so good together, and we used to be so angry. We weren’t moping around or taking shit from anybody.”

“Ned,” Peter weakly cuts in. “That was before. This is now. We tried, remember? We got tired of fighting a losing battle.”

“You mean, _we gave up_,” Ned says, finally sitting up to properly look at Peter, “And now they got MJ. Aren’t you angry?”

“Of course I am,” Peter bites back, but quickly winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

In his dark room, with a storm raging outside, Ned notices that this is what that feeling looks like: that feeling of being trapped and hidden from the world, because the threat a superhero holds towards those who seek power is high or because they figured out that the best way to break Spider-Man is to hurt the ones he would die for. And despite Peter’s powers, they have never felt so weak and unsafe. 

The realization settles over Ned that if Peter was given the chance to do this all over again, he’s not sure that he would. Peter’s biggest dreams quickly turned into his worst nightmares, except this is reality. This is actually happening. Ned thinks he might be sick.

“Aunt May would die for you,” he states like it’s merely a fact; like the weight of his words don’t knock the air out of Peter’s lungs. “And Happy probably won’t admit it but if something happened to you he’d lose his mind. Tony freakin’ Stark risked everything to undo the blip because he wanted you _alive_. And you are my best friend, so if you leave without me I promise you I will travel the entire world just to find you again. Don’t you get it? _Your life matters_, so tell me this Peter.” Ned pauses, holding his gaze, and the storm goes silent for a moment. “What are you willing to do to save it?”

The night is dark and yet Ned swears he can see a glimmer of light fighting through the clouds.

“What are you trying to say?” Peter asks in a soft voice, but underneath, a raging fire is roaring to be let loose and hungry to consume. 

_Where there’s smoke, there’s fire._

“I’m saying, the girl you love is in danger.” He follows the smoke. “So what are you going to do about it?” 

It’s only a matter of time until the fire gets too big for Peter to contain. For as long as he lives, for every breath he takes, the fire will keep growing, feeding on oxygen, rage, and resentment. It will burn as bright as the sun, so bright that no one can ignore it anymore. Ned knows it will be beautiful.

Peter wipes the tears from his eyes. He fixes his gaze to the window, and when the lightning flashes again, he doesn’t flinch.

“You’re right. I’m in. Let’s burn this bitch to the ground.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hi on tumblr: [@ctrls](http://ctrls.tumblr.com)


	2. what if all this was a little lie?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing. Gone. He doesn’t know where to find her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: mentions of underage drinking.**  
listen to "little lies" by odie

#### Two Months Before MJ Goes Missing

Flash Thompson sure knows how to throw a party. 

The floor, the walls, and the entire house vibrate with the pounding music and the moving crowd. Glass windows scale three stories, and with the way the bass is pulsing, Peter thinks it’s only a matter of time before they shatter and collapse onto the new graduates of Midtown. Outside, a faint “Cannonball!” carries over the music and a splash so big hits the glass window he is standing next to that he yelps in surprise. Luckily, the DJ spins one of the latest hits and the crowd cheers, drowning out his embarrassing noise. 

Somewhere upstairs, there is a worryingly loud crash except no one bats an eye until Zach and Ned tumble down the spiraling staircase on a mattress while screaming something about turbulence. Peter sighs. His friends are idiots.

Flash passes by, decked out in his best blazer and shades so dark Peter doubts he can see. He flexes the Rolex watch on his wrist. “What’s up, Penis Parker?”

Flash is a douche. Peter ignores him. Then, he sees her.

For a moment, the crowd parts, and from across the room, MJ holds a drink in one hand and flips her hair over her bare shoulder with the other. Time slows, as her hair slides onto her back; her skin glistening under the lights. She reaches for Betty, and spins her around, and the blonde and the beauty are dancing, laughing; a little tipsy, but _happy_. The sight of MJ is dizzy, like a hazy dream, and when she smiles, Peter swears time stops. His heart beats faster and deeper than the bass, it's _pounding_ in his ears, and he wishes he can look at her like this forever. 

In an instant, the moment is over, and she disappears among the throng of dancing bodies. Time starts again, rushing in like a flood, drowning him. He’s a fool to think that anything can last forever.

“What? You’re not even going to greet your host?” he thinks he hears Flash ask him in annoyance. Peter mumbles, “Hi, Flash. Bye, Flash.”

Grasping for another moment, Peter starts through the crowd. The smell of sweat and weed cloud his senses, and strobing lights disorient him as he stumbles through, senses heightened to the point of unsteadiness. He carefully avoids Brad and several athletes as they aggressively jump around, pumping their fists to the beat and belting out the lyrics, and a few underclassmen who should not be here stand stiffly in the center of the floor looking entirely out of place. 

When Peter reaches his girlfriend, it’s like a switch flips. He refocuses and can see clearly again; no longer dizzy, finally steady. MJ throws her arms around him and buries her face into his neck. She’s warm in his touch. It's the promise of summer. Peter fights a blush creeping onto his cheeks. 

“Dance with me, loser,” she whispers against his skin; the scent of alcohol on her breath. 

“Why? So I can look stupid?” he quips, and MJ leans back to give him a taunting look and a smirk.

“Duh, why else?” 

Peter laughs and watches the lights reflecting and dancing in her eyes. And he thinks he would do anything for her if it meant he could see her smile. So he nods his head and braces himself for this moment.

“Of course, I’ll dance with you.” And just like that, she turns her body around and presses her back flush against his front. 

He freezes, breath caught in his throat, and stares at the back of her head in surprise. This is not what he was expecting. They are _not_ that type of couple.

To any observer, they look like two teenagers clinging to each other, so intimate and close, but as she moves his hands to grip her waist, this feels very different. The girl in front of him feels distant. Unfamiliar. Wrong. 

MJ never dances, but on the rare occasions when she does, it’s never with her hips rocking against him or her arm reaching back to weave her fingers through his hair. Peter tells himself to shake the feeling, but he can’t even see her face. The smile that he so desperately came to admire is hidden away, out of his sight. There is no space in between them yet it’s as if she is a thousand miles from here. 

Missing. Gone. He doesn’t know where to find her.

She grinds her body into his, lost in the music, losing herself while he’s losing feeling on his skin and becoming numb. They are both so out of sync and out of character, and he starts to feel dizzy again. She tilts her head and barely spares him a glance before she pulls him into a kiss.

It’s foreign. Alien. Anything but tender. Her lips taste like Svedka, and Peter hates it so much, the taste so bitter, the bitterness too strong. He starts to feel nauseous. And yet he could never hate _her_, so when the song ends and she leaves to get another drink, he lets her slip out of his grasp.

Three drinks later and her words start to slur. “MJ, slow down,” he urges worriedly, but she cannot hear him over the music as she downs her drink. Or maybe she can but chooses not to listen. It doesn’t really make a difference. He only knows that she needs to stop drinking, and he has to drive her home. 

Two more drinks and her face is turning pink. Her skin feels hot, like a mid-July heat wave, but it's only the start of June. This doesn't feel right. Sweat beads around her hairline, and Peter begs her to drink water. He’s satisfied after she chugs a bottle, but he’s nowhere near relieved. 

A few minutes pass, and her skin pales. Bright and vibrant MJ starts to lose her color, and it's sickly. Scary. “Peter, I think I’m gonna-”

He rushes her to the bathroom and bursts through the door, interrupting two girls about to undress each other. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, but my girlfriend’s about to puke!” he screams, and immediately the girls rush out. 

The stench of vomit is sharp as MJ gags into the toilet bowl, overpowering him and making Peter’s stomach feel funny and queasy. When she pushes her head further down, grips the seat and continues to retch, he adjusts his hold on her hair, making sure the strands don’t get close to her face. He watches her in concern. Something about this makes his heart hurt. 

When she’s finished, Peter steals a Gatorade from Flash’s kitchen and pulls her into the hallway. 

“Here, drink this.” He hands the drink to her, before pulling out his phone to ring Ned, doubtful that his friend will hear the call with all of the chaos and noise going on. MJ leans against him, drowsy and weak, and he holds her upright to keep her from falling over.

“MJ, I’m going to get you home, okay?” 

“No, I want to stay,” she whines, and he jumps to object, “You’re joking, right? You just puked your guts out!” 

From where they are standing, they can see into the dining room. Two people hold Jason upside down over a keg. As he drinks, a group of people circle him, recording with their phones and cheering him on. Among them, he finds Ned, and Peter catches his eye and signals to him that it is time to leave.

In the car, Ned sprawls out in the backseat and dozes off, leaving Peter and MJ alone with nothing but the radio filling the silence. Every now and then, the radio station will be out of range, so the static that follows tingles his ears and feeds the tension. He glances to the passenger’s side to check on her and make sure she is still alive and breathing. Whenever he checks, her head is still leaning against the window, her hair shielding her face from him. Her mind is elsewhere, and he's not in tune. It's just static, _too_ much static, and she's wandering. So he tries to bring her back before she wanders off too far. 

“Are you feeling any better?”

With one hand on the wheel, he reaches his other out for hers to hold. However, she fails to notice him, and his heart weighs heavy in his chest. It's too late to bring her back. MJ _always_ notices him, but this time, she wandered too far.

The drive out of the suburbs is short. When they reach Ned’s building, Peter reaches back and shakes him awake.

“Thanks for being the designated driver.” Ned smiles softly and leans over to hug him. “You’re my very best friend.” 

Peter waits until Ned is safely inside before pulling away from the curb.

Once they pull up to MJ’s building, he cuts the engine and studies her. She has this faraway look in her eyes that tells him she is still thousands of miles away. Not at the party, and certainly not in this car. She is somewhere only she knows. Somewhere he is not invited to.

So he turns his gaze to the windshield, trying to see the end of the long road ahead of them.

It's too dark. He can't see a thing.

After what seems like eternity, MJ breaks the silence. “I got you a graduation present.”

Peter perks up. “Really? You didn’t have to. We graduated together.”

“It’s upstairs,” she goes on like he never spoke, staring out of the window and up at her building. Peter suspects that if she could, MJ would scale its height in a heartbeat and never look back.

“Okay,” Peter mumbles. “You can give it to me another time.”

He leans back into his seat. There’s more that needs to be said. This isn’t the big secret that kept her from him the entire night. What weighs on her mind is heavier than any graduation gift. 

MJ sighs. “Can I be honest with you?” Her voice is soft and frail, but her words still slur.

“Of course,” he replies, hoping she will meet his gaze. She doesn’t.

Peter’s eyes dart to her lips as she digs into them with her teeth. She furrows her brows, like she's willing for a tear not to slip down her cheek. But gravity plays by the rules, so it slips anyway. Immediately, he longs to reverse time, rewind, turn around and drive her back to the party where she was smiling, laughing, and dancing. 

But Peter is no time traveler, and MJ is no actress. They both know she was not happy at that party; only drunk on alcohol and music. 

“I’m not ready for us to be over,” she blurts out in one breath, like she had been struggling to keep those words bottled in. 

They slap him across the face as she finally turns to witness the damage. Her eyes water. Peter’s face stings. Time slows again, but now he wishes it wouldn’t. He would do anything for the time to rush forward.

“Wh-What are you talking about?” he stutters in disbelief and confusion. “We’re still together.” And Peter silently prays his voice won’t crack and give him away. “We still love each other. Right?”

MJ squeezes her eyes shut. The tears fall in streams, wetting her face and slipping down her neck. She winces, the salt burning her skin.

“Yeah, but you’re leaving at the end of the summer, Peter.” She tries to calm herself down by taking slow, deep breaths, and Peter can hear them so clearly, they sound like a wind in a storm. “When September comes, you’ll be off to Massachusetts, while I stay here in New York. We’ve been going to the same school our _whole lives_.” She rips her eyes away from his and looks out over the dashboard and into the street. There is no doubt in Peter’s mind that she is hundreds of worlds away. 

MJ bends her arm up to grip her shoulder. It seems to physically pain her to ask, “What if this is it?”

“MJ,” Peter starts, furiously shaking his head. He’s not sure if it’s to emphasize what he is saying or to wake him from this bad dream, but it only makes him dizzier. “Don’t think like that. I want us to work. Even in a different state, I would still want to be with you.”

She continues on like he didn’t say a word, “What if we don’t make it?”

Peter has never seen her this vulnerable. It’s like she’s been holding onto this fear for weeks, maybe even months now. She sounds so exhausted as she shares her drunken thoughts. Fatigue washes over her, and her eyes begin to droop. He doubts she was ever going to share them if she wasn’t so wasted.

This can’t be it. How will they make it if they don’t try? 

Peter reaches for her. “MJ, I promise you-” 

She cuts him off with a whisper, “You can’t promise anything in life.” She’s speaking to him, but she’s not really there, not fully present tonight in this parked car.

“You can’t promise not to _change_.” Her voice wavers ever so slightly. If she’s not careful, her tears will fall again. This time they might never stop. MJ shakes her head. “Neither can I. Everything and everyone changes. No matter what.” 

Time comes to a stop. 

It’s like the oxygen stopped flowing too, because suddenly, Peter can’t breathe. He plays her words in his head several times over until they become an echo in his mind. Peter hates it, _despises_ it, wants to knock himself unconscious if his mind doesn't stop racing soon. But he would be lying if he said he didn't think about three months from now. She has every reason to be scared of change and to worry for their future together (or lack thereof). Neither can promise the other that they won’t change, no matter how much they both wish they can make it.

All Peter can do is pull her close and kiss her tenderly. She tastes bitter; alcohol mixed with vomit. It’s gross and disgusting. But when he feels her tears touch his face, the disgust melts away. 

He pleads, whispering against her lips, “Please tell me that we’re going to make it.”

“Peter, I can’t promise-” she begins to say, but he interrupts and corrects himself, “Please promise me that we will _try_.” 

It takes her a minute, but eventually she gives him a sad smile. 

“Hey.” Peter leans back and points out, “You’re smiling.” 

MJ lets out a sheepish laugh as she wipes her face. He doesn’t pressure her to answer, not wanting to scare her away and for her to disappear into the night. They have a whole summer ahead of them. Their days together will be longer, yet he can already feel her slipping away, like water through his fingers as he tries to hold it in his hands. They’re running out of time, and MJ knew it. Now, he knows it too. 

So he settles for her smile and savors her little laugh. They will have to be enough to get him through the night. 

* * *

At eight in the morning, Happy bursts into his bedroom, startling Peter awake.

“Alright, you got a big meeting today, kid. It’s time to get a move on it.” 

He swings open the closet door, hurriedly shuffling through the clothes on the hangers. “Congratulations, by the way. You’re a high school graduate. Exciting stuff. Now, I need you dressed and ready to go in ten minutes. I hope you showered before you went to bed, and make sure your breath doesn’t smell.” He pulls at a shirt and peeks at the print. 

“Wow, the amount of science pun t-shirts you have is concerning. Where the _hell_ is your suit?”

Unable to locate the suit in the closet, he swivels and starts for the dresser, opening drawers and rummaging around.

“What the hell, Happy? How did you get in here?” Peter exclaims, pulling the blanket over his bare chest, feeling weird that his aunt’s unofficial boyfriend is waking him up and going through his things like he owns the place. 

“May let me in,” Happy responds matter-of-factly, and Peter rolls his eyes. He needs to get used to seeing Happy more often than he would like to.

“Of course she did.”

From his bed, he can hear his aunt cooking breakfast in the kitchen, humming along to the radio while trying not to burn anything. Peter hopes its edible bacon for breakfast; if she’s feeling risky, maybe a nice omelet. 

As Happy reaches for the last drawer, Peter protests, “No, stop!” and his hand freezes over the knob. “That’s my underwear drawer,” he continues, and immediately Happy jumps back and shudders like he nearly had the most offensive experience of his life. Peter, for one, is actually offended.

“Just tell me where your suit is,” he sighs, and Peter slowly points to the floor next to Happy’s feet. Happy drops his gaze and takes in the sight of the balled-up Spider-Man suit shoved near dirty mismatched socks and wet Converses. Peter shamefully avoids meeting his eyes.

Happy reaches down and carefully picks up the suit, voice dripping in disappointment. “This is a million dollar suit designed and manufactured by Tony Stark himself, and you just kick it to the side along with your shoes?” 

“Sorry,” Peter squeaks. “I have a lot of laundry to do this weekend.” 

Happy tosses it to him and huffs. “Suit up. You have eight minutes now. These guys run on a tight schedule. We cannot be late.”

Peter straightens out the suit, trying to shake out the wrinkles, as he racks his brain for details about their upcoming meeting, but all he finds are fragments of last night’s events and images of MJ’s tear-stained face. 

“Who are these guys again?” he asks before Happy steps out of the room.

Happy pauses before turning to look at him in surprise, wondering how Peter could ever forget such an important day. “Peter, five months from now, you and the rest of America will be visiting the polls, but _today_, the president is visiting New York City.” He watches Peter’s eyes grow wide. “And the first thing on his agenda is meeting you, Spider-Man.”

* * *

The last thing Peter was expecting is for a limo to pull up at the front of his building and a chauffeur to step out and open the door for them. 

“Keep your head down. We don’t want to attract anyone’s attention,” Happy whispers as he pulls the hood of Peter’s sweater over his mask as far as it can go. They slide into the vehicle onto smooth leather seats. 

“Whoa, are these bulletproof?” Peter taps the windows of the car in curiosity. They definitely look and sound like regular old windows. He taps more aggressively.

Happy swats at his hand. “Stop that. Of course, they are.” 

“How can you tell?” but Happy just shrugs.

“This vehicle was sent by the president of the United States. It’s definitely bulletproof.”

“Cool.” Peter whistles. “But did you know that technically there’s no such thing as bulletproof glass? It’s actually _bullet-resistant_, because the physics and material sciences of it all supports that a bullet will eventually get through bulletproof glass after many penetrations.”

Happy side-eyes him, silently hating his life as he listens to a teenager talk about polycarbonates. 

“When you really think about it, if someone keeps shooting at you, and you’re only relying on the bulletproof glass to protect you, you would probably just end up dying,” he finishes and turns to study the glass some more.

Happy forces out a laugh and awkwardly answers, “Good to know.”

Half an hour later, they arrive at a hotel near the water. As they step out of the limo, Peter gapes across the street in awe. “Oh my gosh! That’s the United Nations Headquarters!” and Happy nods, unamused. Quickly, Peter pulls out his phone to snap a picture of himself with the building behind him and excitedly announces, “I have to send this to MJ.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, his thumbs pause over his screen.

MJ.

_MJ_.

The girl who opened up and allowed herself to get close to him, only to be ridden with the fear of drifting apart.

It hurts. He wants to promise her that nothing will change. That their love is steady and solid and grounded. Almost sends her a picture of a cool place he knows she would appreciate, just to let her know that she's always on his mind.

Peter hesitates before deciding against it and pocketing his phone. He’ll show it to her when he returns.

Soon, Happy and Peter are ushered into a conference room on the thirty-ninth floor, overlooking the city. Once they’re alone, Peter rips off his mask and basks in the view of Midtown Manhattan. It's vast, miles worth of a bustling city, full of dreamers and tourists and everyone in between. He takes it all in, filing a mental note that he is not too far from Times Square, Central Park, and Greenwich Village. From here, he could easily swing by New York University, if he felt like it, if he wanted to. Just to check out and maybe get a feel for the school MJ committed to.

Instantly, he feels small and insignificant. The moment bittersweet and nostalgic. In three months, he’ll be saying good-bye, but the city is so big, it wouldn't miss him.

And in three months time, New York City will no longer be his playground. But the borough of Manhattan will be where MJ builds her future. 

God, he really hopes they can make it.

“Peter,” Happy’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Mask on. They’re coming up.”

Several men in black suits enter through the doors and surround the room. One of them gestures for Happy and Peter to stand, and the two get patted down for weapons of any sort. Once they deduce that the pair are unarmed and nonthreatening, besides the obvious fact that Spider-Man is, well, _Spider-Man_, a tall, white man with brown hair, sporting a dark gray suit walks into the room. Broad shoulders, a purposeful walk, bushy eyebrows and a subtle beard that makes him look clean-cut and laid back at the same time.

But it's the eyes that pierce him. They are wide and strikingly blue. He’s got a face Peter would recognize anywhere.

“Mr. President.” Happy smiles and cautiously raises his arm to shake his hand. “Happy Hogan.” Peter bows his head and repeats the greeting. Through gritted teeth, Happy says under his breath, “What are you doing? He’s not a _king_.”

Peter awkwardly laughs and straightens his posture, “Right!” and proceeds into a handshake with the man of the hour. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, President Quentin. I’m P-” he stumbles over his words, “Uh, I’m Spider-Man.”

Even though the Secret Service agents are silent, and there is nobody else present but them, a hush settles as President Quentin commands the room with his voice.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Hogan. Spider-Man.” He flashes them a glistening smile, and although his face is hidden, Peter is embarrassed by the nervous heat that rushes to his cheeks. “Please.” The president gestures to their seats. “Sit. Would you like some water? Coffee?”

Happy replies, “I’ll have a coffee please,” at the same time Peter asks, “Do you have any cranberry juice?” The president laughs like he’s having the time of his life. Happy clutches the arms of his chair in anxiousness.

“Get these fine men a coffee and some cranberry juice, boys,” he orders to his agents, “And as for the rest of you, leave us.” The agents step out. 

They engage in small talk for a few minutes while they wait. Quentin and Happy discuss the stock market while Peter nods along, pretending like he understands what margins and sectors are. But when they mention the weather, he can finally contribute, sharing too many details about how the rising temperature makes his suit stick to his skin and cling in all the wrong places. Happy's face beats red like he might explode, because _Too much information, Spider-Man,_ but the president smiles like he's heard it all before.

When their drinks arrive, and they're finally alone, a glint appears in the president’s eyes. There’s a charisma radiating off of him that Peter thought was only a camera trick for televised appearances, but here he is, live and in person. Peter knows he’ll be a tough candidate to beat in November. 

“I have to say, Spider-Man.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the glass table. “I’m a big fan of yours.”

“Thank you, sir,” Peter replies, fiddling with his cup of juice, not knowing what to do with his hands.

“And you are a superhero, after all, but that’s not the reason why I value your opinion.” The president is stroking his ego, and he loves it. “You’re young, and everybody knows the youth are the future leaders of this country, so I have to ask. What do you think is best for America?”

It feels like a test. It should be a test. He doesn’t watch all of the debates with Aunt May for nothing. He doesn’t follow MJ’s political blog just for the hell of it. Peter is fully up to date on the country’s political climate, and that also means he has done extensive research on its current president. Peter knows who he will be voting for in five months, so he doesn’t take this question lightly.

“Honestly.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t really believe it anymore when politicians say they value my opinion.” Peter watches the easy smile slowly slide off of President Quentin’s face. He swears he sees a small one grow on Happy’s.

“I think there’s a lot that this country can do better. Immigration policies, unemployment, gun reform, you name it,” Peter lists off and although he’s a boy in spandex, he stares down the man in a tailored suit. “But what do I know? I’m just a kid.”

The president leans back, resting into his seat. He’s got a look in his eyes that tells Peter he’s impressed but not quite surprised. Almost like he’s been expecting this. Baiting him to come challenge him.

“You know what you’re talking about,” he acknowledges Spider-Man’s intelligence. “So you must know that I agree with you.”

Carefully, Peter nods. “I do know that.”

President Quentin raises an eyebrow, shining teeth with that Virginia-born accent. “Does that mean I have your vote?” 

Peter pridefully raises his chin.

“For now.”

Being face-to-face with the man who leads this nation, and who could possibly keep leading during Peter’s next four years at college is nerve wracking. His agenda is inspiring, his words are uplifting, but not much has changed during his first term. Maybe he needs a second term to really seal the deal. Peter doesn’t know. All he knows is that politics involve a lot of empty promises. 

The president cracks a smile and sends him a wink. 

“How would you like to endorse me?”

* * *

“In my professional opinion, I don’t think you should do it.”

Peter throws himself into the limo next to Happy and looks at him like he’s out of his mind.

“But, Happy, I think he’s the most decent presidential candidate we’ve got,” he argues as he clicks the seat belt over his body.

Happy points a finger in his face. “And while that may be true, _Spider-Man_ is not a political figure. He’s a friendly _neighborhood_ Spider-Man that does not get involved with the government!”

“I’m most likely going to vote for him so why not let people know who I’m voting for?”

_”Most likely?”_ Happy cries out, “Did you even think this through?” 

Peter feels the frustration from him and gets defensive. Gritting his teeth and furrowing his eyebrows. “Of course, I did! Why? Who are you voting for?”

A long pause. 

“...Quentin.”

“Wow! What an _excellent_ choice!” 

“That’s not the point.” Happy groans as he pulls at his hair. “It’s different if I say who I’m voting for, but if those words come from Spider-Man?” He shakes his head. “Nope. Bad idea. You are way too in the public eye. You might influence people who don’t know any better.”

Sighing, Peter knows he’s right, but he considers telling Happy the rest of his reasoning. He’s going to think it’s stupid, but in Peter’s mind it makes sense. Maybe he’s just a fool for believing in it.

“I know, it’s just. I’ve been thinking about it, and not only do I like him, but so does Aunt May! Ned’s going to vote for him too. And MJ! Yeah, MJ _really_ likes him. She’s been rooting for him since last year. And, you know, she’s going to NYU for political science. Pre-law track, all that. So I thought that if I do this, I can get into the scene and be a connection for her. Everything’s all about networking and who you know. So through me, she can meet the president, maybe get involved, gain some experience and really succeed in her career,” he rushes what he says, words bleeding into one another, but Happy caught all of it. Now, he looks annoyed. Disappointed, even.

“A girl?” he repeats in disbelief. Now Happy’s the one looking at Peter like he’s out of his mind. “You’re doing all of this for a _girl?”_

“She’s not just a girl!” Peter quickly comes to her defense. “And no, it’s not _only_ for her. I really do want him to win. I agree with a lot of his views, and if he follows through, he can make a real difference for the country.”

If Happy has more to say to him, he doesn’t get the chance. 

Because a second later, Peter tugs Happy down into his chest as a bullet pierces the window where his head had been. They freeze, holding their breaths, too scared to make any sudden movements. In the next second, Peter hurls both of them to the floor as another strikes the window beside him. They turn to each other with wide eyes. Peter can hear Happy's heart beating in his chest.

“Driver!” Happy yells over the divider. The chauffeur, who had been holding a phone to his ear, jumps and drops it from his hand. _”Drive!”_” Happy shrieks, and he didn’t have to be told twice before he steps on the gas and speeds off. 

“Any more?” Happy asks timidly, just as Peter utters, “Oh no.”

Like hail, bullets fly against the windows, each one creating bigger cracks in the glass. The sound of them rings in Peter's ears, and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus. “C'mon, Spider-Man. C'mon,” he wills himself. They hear the driver scream as he tries to race them out of Manhattan. If Peter doesn’t do something, they might just crash.

“If we die today, I just need you to know that I really care about you,” Happy starts to say, but Peter's eyes fly open, and he silences him, “Really, Happy? Now is not the time!”

“I just need to make sure you know-”

“We are _not_ going to die!”

They hold onto each other as a window shatters over them, cutting the skin on their face and making them bleed. 

“Stay here, and stay down,” Peter orders, pulling the mask over his face. “I got this.” 

“Peter-” Happy starts and pulls him back.

“I care about you too, now let me go!” Peter hurriedly spits out, as he peels himself off of the floor. He steels his eyes on the car next to them, calling on Karen in his suit to lock the target in place. Bowing his head, her voice counts down from three, and in a completely different way than last night, time slows down. And it's just Peter and Spider-Man, Spider-Man and Peter.

He leaps out through the broken window and busts into their glass. It shatters and pricks his suit. But that's the least of his worries, because when the glass clears, he finds that he has tackled someone as they roll over the seats, dizzy and slippery. The bullets are going off into the air as the two of them spin, and Peter howls in pain as one hits his thigh.

_“Motherfu-”_

Another tears his suit and grazes his skin. He sharply hisses and in vain, Peter tries to reach for the gun and rip it from his attacker’s grip, not stopping to dwell on the fact that his suit is supposed to be bulletproof. 

Blue dots spot in his vision, slowly and then all at once, until he’s blinded, and Peter’s sure he is bruising black and blue. His skin is heightened to the pain and whatever toxin is suddenly coursing into his blood system, and the churning of his stomach almost heaves up into his throat. This makes sense, Peter says to himself. Apparently, these aren't ordinary bullets. Straining his arms forward, he fights to grasp onto something while he almost slips away into unconsciousness. 

“You know, it’s really rude to shoot at people, and you just ruined a perfectly good limo!” he manages to say, before he throws the guy off of him and webs him to the seat. The driver snarls, and the sound is so blood-curdling, that it rings in Peter’s ears like a bomb ticking, about to explode. With one hand, the driver pulls a gun from his jacket, and the action shoots a chill up Peter’s spine and into his brain waves. And then with the click of the grip safety, the blue spots in his vision flash white.

The first thing Peter notices when he regains his sight are steel blue eyes behind a black mask, and it’s ice so cold that it freezes him for a moment. A moment too long. The driver points the gun at Peter’s chest.

Without thinking, Peter senses a lamp post as the car hurtles past it. He shoots a web at it through the broken window.

“Sorry! I gotta go!” 

The car keeps speeding forward as Peter is yanked out and flying into a rod of metal. His head rams into the light, and the unbearable pain of the bullet in his leg makes him crash to the ground. The world starts to spin, time slows to a stop, and the busy street around him fades to darkness. Peter passes out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update: i'm currently editing this work and writing the next chapter. but with school, it's looking real slow lol.
> 
> say hi on tumblr: [@ctrls](https://ctrls.tumblr.com)


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